


Impostor Syndrome

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Inquisition characters in minor roles, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Fenris/Isabela - Freeform, Purple Hawke, Slow Burn, Sort of AU, sort of canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-08 05:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7745707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s well known that Varric Tethras is an unreliable narrator, but this time it’s not just his reputation as a storyteller that’s at stake.</p>
<p>Only a handful of people know that Garrett Hawke never existed. The Kirkwall gang, Fenris included, were hired by Varric to act as the Champion and it was going okay until Anders blew up the Chantry and the world went to hell in a hand basket.  </p>
<p>With Corypheus doing his damndest to destroy the whole world, the world needs Hawke, in person, and somehow the Inquisition needs to find someone to fit the suit. Because he’s best suited to the job, Varric asks Fenris to go out recruiting and find a man willing to step into those myth-sized shoes. </p>
<p>The newly-minted “Garrett Hawke” is not what anyone expected, a little witty, surprisingly powerful, and uncannily similar to the character in Varric’s book. </p>
<p>Sometimes reality really is stranger than fiction.</p>
<p>Look! It's the AU nobody even knew they needed, where everyone is themselves, even the one that should never have existed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well, Shit

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know the next chapter status? I'll be posting it on Tumblr.
> 
> http://swooningtrash.tumblr.com/tagged/swooningtrash-writes

Garrett Hawke was a myth, a lie. The Champion of Kirkwall never existed. Just as Fenris's markings glowed a little when he was angry and Isabela's love for gold had gotten them into more than one scrape with the seedier elements of Darktown, the Tale of the Champion was was the biggest lie Varric Tethras had ever told in his life. He had, along with some help, managed to fool the entire world that the Champion was a living, breathing man. A mage who had flaunted his power in the face of the Templars, no less.

The only problem was, now the Inquisition wanted, no needed, the real deal. 

Haven had been destroyed and the villain of the piece revealed himself. Corypheus, crazed magister bastard that he was, had come back from the dead and made himself a real threat to all of Thedas. 

As they walked around the ruins of Skyhold, desperately trying to regain a sense of safety in its crumbling walls, Cassandra kept looking at Varric. She sought eye contact, a pleading look in her eyes that begged him as if there was something he could do materially to help fix this, as if he had a magic arrow in his back pocket that would solve all their problems. She was looking to him because he was the source of all things Hawke.

She just didn’t know exactly how literally that was true.

Hawke was a creation, a way to give hope to the people of Kirkwall when Fereldens, thankfully minus their dogs, started washing up on shore along with a boatload of Qunari. The Blight wrecked lives all over Thedas, but it pushed Kirkwall over an edge it had been teetering on for a decade. The city-state was already fragile enough before the refugees drained resources even further and then the Qunari sat in their enclave just… looming. Like that jaundice tinge in the air that spoke of a violent storm yet to come, they pushed the boundaries of the Viscount’s patience. Lowtown got lower. Darktown got darker. Even the nobles, seemingly safe in their Hightown estates, grew restless and irritable and unabashedly crueler. There was a need for a hero. Varric was a storyteller. The answer was obvious, at least at the time.

“Corypheus, huh?” Varric did his best not to meet anyone’s eye.

"Varric, please. You know where he is. I’ve read ‘Legacy of the Hawke'. I know what Hawke did in the Warden prison. He may be our only source of information on this magister."

She sounded truly scared and desperate for the first time he had known her. It would only be a matter of time until he had to tell them the truth. Either that or kill Hawke off and that was not really how he wanted his creation to end. Despite knowing there was no way it was true, Varric felt a lot like Hawke was his best friend. That didn’t mean, however, that he was crazy enough to try to pull off the same stunt twice. Not on this level anyway.

Sure, he might be the best storyteller he knew, but part of being the best is knowing your limits and when to push past them. This was not the time nor the place to try and run that kind of con job. The world would survive without Kirkwall, but no one would survive if Corypheus won.

“Alright alright,” he said putting his hands up in surrender. “I’ll tell you all where Hawke is. But… we’re going to need something to drink. And a place to sit down."

Varric was about to have a very uncomfortable conversation with these people he was starting to think of as friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only way to get this thing out of my head is to write it an inflict it on you all. I'm probably going to make a mess of it, continuity-wise. I'm posting as I write it so, yeah, no beta and who knows how it will all play out. I sure as hell don't.
> 
> Canon is important here, except when it isn't. In theory, the only twist is not-real Hawke, but expect some stuff to be shifted to fit the AU going on here.
> 
> I'm gonna try to make the chapters longer than this and try to update as often as possible. I'm also going to try to put some kind of plan together for how it will wrap up eventually. For now? Free-for-all! 
> 
> Exciting right?
> 
> Hold onto your butts, y'all. This is going to be a bumpy ride.


	2. Holding Out for a Hero

The crumbling space that would become the Inquisitor’s war room was completely silent. Varric unfolded his hands from his lap and grab the generously sized tankard in front of him. It clanked louder than it should have when he put it back down.

“Varric. How could you?”

Varric worried briefly that if the Seeker had the ability, she would have burned him to cinders where he stood. Thankfully, she wan’t a mage.

“I did what I had to to protect that Maker-forsaken city. I know I complain about it a lot, but it’s home and fuck me, but I loved it to much to watch it eat itself.”

Cassandra paced in front of him. “But such a lie! And you sold it as fact. You fooled everyone, Varric. You fooled me. I do not suffer such offenses to go unpunished.”

Cullen stood there gaping, his mouth opening and closing.

“But… but I met Hawke. I… I shook the man’s hand… more than once!”

Shaking his head as if to clear it, he squinted at Varric. “How?”

Varric shrugged. “Sometimes when you’re being completely obvious about something, people miss the important details. You just have to double down and walk like you own the place and sometimes it gets to be yours.”

Cullen cocked his head to the side, reminding Varric of the mabari that had run unchecked around Haven. The confusion on the Commander’s face was enough to make Varric want to give him a bit more.

“It was usually Anders standing in for Hawke. Sometimes it was an actor from some passing troupe. Once it was even Fenris.”

That one got their attention and he smirked. It was one of their most dangerous and most spectacular successes in the whole ten years.

“The Arishok,” Varric told them.

Now everyone was squinting at him in confusion. It would have been funny if they weren’t also looking angry enough to skin him and hang his face off the ramparts.

“We used… illusions. Parlor tricks. Kid stuff. Along with a special trick Anders had picked up that allowed someone to look like someone else, though there was a time limit to that trick.”

Cullen shook his head. “Hawke never did stick around to enjoy the spoils of his successes. I always thought it was humility.”

Leliana stepped toward Varric. “But the Arishok? Hawke is supposed to be a mage. How did you pull that off?”

Varric rubbed his forehead. “So, we used Anders’s illusion spell. You know how Hawke has a bladed staff? That had an illusion on it too this time. We kept Anders out of the fight because… well, Fenris volunteered, saying Anders was too indispensable.”

“They do not hate each other then, I take it?” Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“No. Of course not. Anyway, so the elf went at it with the Arishok, along with a little undercover fireworks courtesy the talented Daisy. And if they hadn’t burned the body, which was great for us at the time, you would see that the Arishok died of sword wounds, not from magic.”

Cullen still looked stunned. Leliana and the Inquisitor seemed impressed. Josephine, eyes wide, sat down with a plop, raising some dust from the worn cushion of her seat.

“That is incredible. But what do we do now? This is going to cause more than a few complications.”

Cassandra grabbed Varric by the collar. “First we get rid of this lying dwarf and then we shall have to call upon someone else who may have information on Corypheus.”

She was livid, holding a hand up, ready to call the guards, when Inquisitor Lavellan stood from her chair and approached them.

“We’re not sending him anywhere.”

“Excuse me?” Cassandra turned her ire on the newly-empowered Inquisitor. “He is a liar and we have already trusted him far too much. We need to get rid of him now before he causes us any further trouble.”

Lavellan shook her head. “But he’s right.”

They all looked at her as if she had become possessed. With a deep breath, she tried to explain, knowing this would probably be one of the first, but definitely not the last, times she went against her advisors’ better wisdom. Sometimes she was still going to have to rely on her gut.

“The Inquisition still needs Hawke. We need his support. We can’t afford to be losing allies right now, we’re too young of an organization. No one trusts us. Hawke’s endorsement will go a long way.”

Cullen shook his head. “Hawke doesn’t have the stellar reputation I think we’re looking for in an endorsement, Inquisitor.”

Lavellan shook her head. “It’s not just that. Hawke is still a symbol, the people still need that kind of legend walking around, helping save the day.”

Josephine tapped her quill against her chin. “I do see what the Inquisitor is saying, Commander. While Hawke’s reputation is indeed as you say, less than stellar, it is still a strong one, and known throughout all of Thedas.”

“And his brother is a Templar while he a mage, so we have the opportunity to remain more neutral with both sides.” Leliana nodded.

Cassandra’s face was still twisted in a grimace. “You all are speaking as if the man lives and breathes. He does not. And he has no brother.”

Varric finally dared to speak up again, hands up in a sign of surrender. It was becoming an all too familiar gesture.

“I… I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think I know a way we can bring Hawke here to the Inquisition. If you’re all still interested in his help, that is.”

He waited for a moment and when he didn’t feel a sword through his gut, he started to elaborate.

“I still have a chest of the gear we used to make Hawke happen. It’s at my place in Kirkwall, but I can reach out to Fenris, have him bring it here.”

Lavellan stepped up to Varric, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. That would be very helpful. Now, who shall we get to be Hawke?”

“We’re actually doing this?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes,” Lavellan replied. “Hawke might not be real in the usual sense, but… well, they’re going to make up stories about me when this is all over, aren’t they? What leader doesn’t get put on some kind of pedestal? Varric might even be the one to write the tale, if I play my cards right.”

She gave him a wink that settled his nerves considerably. He might not even get stabbed today, and that was worth drinking to.

“Either way, what I do, what I’ve already done, history will miss some of the facts and it will all be bigger and better than whatever actually happens. With Hawke, we’re just going to bend things a bit further than you would expect.”

The Seeker’s shoulders slumped a little.

“I understand what you are saying, though I do not like it overly much. But if that is our way forward, then I shall do my best to make this ruse a success. Failure would be devastating for the Inquisition. I do not think we would ever regain our reputation if we were discovered.”

“Indeed,” Leliana smiled. “I must admit, I rather like this idea. It’s not dissimilar from some of the other plans I have enacted with my agents. I’m sure we can make this work.”

Cullen and Josephine looked at each other. After a moment they shrugged and nodded their agreement.

“I think.” Josephine stood, jotting notes on her clipboard. “We should not use someone already associated with the Inquisition. We shall require someone anonymous. They will have to show their face, after all, and will become known throughout Skyhold at the very least.”

Lavellan nodded. “Agreed. Varric, I am putting you in charge of this operation. You wrote the book, you made this all work in Kirkwall. Can you take care of this for us?”

Varric smiled. She hadn’t gotten angry, at least not openly, and she was making a very risky, but very smart move here. This woman was far too canny to not enjoy a good round of Wicked Grace. He made a note to invite her to a game sometime soon.

She was also starting to wrap Varric, and the rest of the Inquisition, around her little finger. They had all listened to her plan and agreed to it, no matter how it sounded. Not bad for a Dalish elf, and a mage no less.

“Of course, Inquisitor. Once Fenris gets here, I’ll fill him in. If anyone can find a suitable man for the job, it’s the elf. He’s prickly, but he’s good people.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Thank you, Varric. You are dismissed.”

Taking his leave, Varric grabbed his tankard and made his way to the room that had been allotted to him. It was small and there were a few holes in the lattice of glass in the window, but it was far better quarters than he had in Haven. The way the Inquisition was headed, with new recruits and resources pouring in every day, he was sure the fortress would be in working order quickly.

He carefully wrote a letter to Fenris, with instructions and an invitation, in his neatest handwriting to ease the elf’s ability to read it. He then wrote to the rest of the Hawke team, filling them in between the lines of asking after their health and well-being.

He had just finished his letter to Merrill when a knock came on his door. It was loud enough to make him jump and botch the ball of twine he was doodling in the margin.

“Seeker. Fancy seeing you here. Care for a drink?”

He held out a hand, inviting her in. She stepped inside, giving a quick look around.

“This room is in good working order, then. If a bit small.”

Varric chuckled. “Well, I’m a bit small, too, so it suits me just fine. As long as I have a writing desk and place to sleep, I don’t need much else.”

Cassandra didn’t look as angry as she had during the council in the war room. In fact, there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“So, now that the cat’s out of the bag, what can I do for you?”

The Seeker set her jaw. “I need to ask you something Varric. About the ‘Tale of the Champion’.”

“Ah, you want to know what else was a lie, then, right? I can understand that.” He frown, sitting back down. “It was all true, in its own way. Everything actually did happen, the Templars, Meredith, all the blood magic. Bertrand and the red lyrium, the Qunari. The only thing that was a lie was Hawke.”

“I see.” Cassandra nodded, crossing her arms and settling into a more comfortable stance. “I have thought about what you said in the war room. I understand what it is like to be between a rock and a hard place. Having been to Kirkwall myself, I know it must have been difficult to feel powerless in such a place. It has its charms and the people need much protection.”

“Got a soft spot for Kirkwall now, eh Seeker?” Varric raised an eyebrow. “Not going to throw me off the ramparts then?”

She gave him a very small smile. “No, Varric. Though I may not like it very much, I believe the Inquisitor is right about keeping Hawke alive in the people’s minds. We do need a hero, someone already established. I just wonder though…”

She looked sheepish now and despite only knowing her for a short while, Varric had guessed at her one weakness. Her copy of the ‘Tale of the Champion’ was far more dog-eared than was strictly required for research.

“You want to know where the love story came from?” He sighed, it was tough breaking shit to a fan. “It never happened. Fenris didn’t fall in love with Hawke, because there was no Hawke to fall in love with. I made that bit up for him so he had some protection. It’s not easy being an escaped slave squatting in an old mansion.”

“I see.” Her brow furrowed a little further before she set her shoulders back. “Thank you for telling me Varric. I do hope you do not have any further revelations that will make this any more difficult.”

He saluted her as she headed to the door. “Nope, Seeker. That’s all of it. Although I am taking notes. Never know what kind of romance I might write for you in my next book.”

Cassandra’s groan of disapproval echoed through the hall as Varric chuckled and grabbed the letters he had written.

It was time to send for Fenris and their box full of Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! You all seem to be as excited about this fic as I am. Huzzah!!!
> 
> Okay, so here's the next chapter already. I doubt I'll keep churning them out at this pace, but know that I have a good track record of finishing fics, so even if the pace slows, I'm bound and determined to finish it.
> 
> After diving in with no plan, I do have an outline now that gets me to the end. Probably going to need more chapters, depending on how it goes, but as of now, there are 23 chapters outlined and my chapters tend to run about the same length as this one, more or less. 
> 
> There is some really great stuff in this outline and I think you're all going to love it. The only thing I will say is this: CUTE and SLOW BURN. yissssssss.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one and please say hi and feel free to ask questions in the comments. I love hearing your enthusiasm and it keeps me going!


	3. Good Friend and a Glass of Wine

A month had passed since Varric borrowed a few of Leliana’s ravens to send messages to friends who “knew” Hawke. Repairs were well underway at Skyhold and the Inquisitor managed to acquire a few new allies on her journeys. It was almost as if she felt the need to oversee every ground operation herself and it had become a running joke among the companions that the Inquisitor would defeat Corypheus on her ability to pick elfroot alone. 

A journey to the Storm Coast brought the Iron Bull and his Chargers into the Inquisition's employ, along with a healthy supply of spindleweed. The upper balcony of the main hall was now the haunt of the First Enchanter of the Orlesian Circle of Magi, the trip to Val Royeaux that recruited her also bringing in more bolts of velveteen than they could find use for. Apostate mages with various specialties had arrived as well, offering their services and training to the Inquisitor herself. At least they hadn’t brought more elfroot with them.

The sun was just setting below the peaks of the Frostback Mountains encircling the fortress when a hooded figure arrived at the gates. Accompanied by a bouncing, alert mabari and a tired-looking donkey pulling a cart, the figure’s clothes were worn from travel, but sturdy and well-made. They spoke of someone who had once known more comfort than many of the other recent arrivals joining the Inquisition in hope of a better life.

Inquisition guards stopped the figure, as they did with all new arrivals.

“Stop for inspection please. What business brings you to Skyhold?” the soldier asked.

The figure did not drop the hood and scarf that obscured his face, his voice a low growl when he spoke. 

“Tell Varric Tethras that the Elf is here to aid the Inquisition.”

The guards looked between each other, the one who spoke shaking her head at the other when she received a shrug in return. 

“So sorry, Serrah, but which elf exactly are you?”

The elf did not stop the other guard when he went to the cart and lifted the canvas to examine its contents. There he found a deadly broadsword in its scabbard along side a sizable trunk and a few traveling supplies. The trunk was unlocked and a quick look inside revealed little more than a few items of clothing and other personal trappings. Nothing gave the guard any alarm and he nodded to his fellow guardsman.

“Not which elf. Just the Elf. Tethras will know.” 

Though they did not let him enter, one of the guards went to seek Varric. 

It was full dark when Varric arrived, greeting the hooded elf with a handshake. 

“Glad you got here safe, Elf. It’s been… a while yeah?”

The elf grunted. “Good to see you, too, Dwarf. The roads weren’t too bad. Dragon likes the snow apparently, though this poor donkey deserves a good stall and fresher rations than she has had of late.”

Varric nodded and looked to the guards. “You two make sure the donkey is well cared for, yeah? The trunk needs to go up to the room next to mine. Ask the Chamberlain’s people, they can take care of it.”

With assurances his request would be carried out, Varric led the elf across the courtyard, Dragon the mabari trailing behind them. Rather than going up the main stairs, they took a side staircase up to the ramparts, then through chambers and halls in various states of repair until Varric almost got lost himself before stopping in a corridor that held the vague smell of yeast.

“We’re near the kitchens. Pretty convenient if you can’t sleep and want a midnight snack. Also, you can follow your nose if you get lost finding your quarters.” Varric gestured to the next door. “That one is yours, this is me. Come on in.”

A carafe of wine and two glasses sat on a tray on Varric’s desk along with a tray of cold meats, cheeses, and bread slathered with butter. The writing parchments that usually cluttered it were cleared to make room. 

Before sitting, the elf removed his hood and the grey scarf that hid his features. Silvery blue lines of lyrium painted the elf’s chin, down his neck and beneath his clothes. His hair was as white as the snow permanently settled on the mountains he had just crossed to get here.

“Fenris. It is good to see you.” Varric poured the wine, offering the elvhen warrior a glass as Dragon settled himself at Fenris’s feet.

Fenris sniffed the wine, eyebrows raising when he detected a fine Orlesian vintage.

“I would have expected something more… Ferelden.”

“Heh. Yeah. The Inquisitor just came back from Val Royeaux. Made quite the impression, from what I’ve heard. A couple of crates of this stuff arrived yesterday.”

Fenris paused before he sipped, looking warily into the glass.

“Relax. It’s been checked for poison and enchantments. It’s just wine.”

The elf took a sip, rolling it over his tongue for a moment before swallowing. He reached over and dropped a few chunks of meat and bread down to the mabari who quickly scarfed them up and then settled back down.

“Good vintage. It has been some time since I have had something this fine. The lodgings, too. Though there seems to be a price for all this luxury. Not that I am surprised.”

Varric half smirked. “I kind of… got caught up in saving the world again. Or at least helping. And the stakes are… higher this time.”

“We are resurrecting Hawke. That almost says enough. Though how we are going to do that without Anders is something I will leave to you and Isabela.”

Varric casually swirled the wine in his glass, not meeting his friend’s eyes. “Speaking of, how are things between you and Rivaini?”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Over and done. Mutually. And no blades drawn.”

Varric chuckled. “Well, at least there’s that. Sorry to hear it.”

Fenris shrugged, taking another sip as he composed his thoughts. That cautious use of language was something Varric always admired about the elf, though he knew it came more from old habits of self preservation than anything else. 

“It was just… too much. After the Chantry and Meridith. We just… she needed the sea. I needed to hunt slavers. We decided it would be better to end things cleanly, with no regrets.”

Varric nodded. “You were good for each other.”

“We were there for each other. It was never meant to last. It was never love, not that kind anyway. She liked a warm body in bed and a handy swordsman nearby. I had… a lot of healing to do.”

“She’s a smart cookie, our Rivaini. And kinder than she wants anyone to know, though she’d kill me for saying so.”

Fenris nodded and a silence fell between them for a moment. 

“So.” Varric cleared his throat. “About bringing Hawke back.”

“Yes. The man, the myth, the legend, as you said in your message. The crate has all we need. But who is to play the hero this time, Dwarf? Surely not me again.”

Varric rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s more complicated this time. See, there’s an old enemy behind all this breach in the sky business.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at the dwarf and Varric sighed.

“It’s Corypheus.”

The elf was on his feet in an instant. “No. We killed him. And nearly died doing it. If it had not been for Justice… but we were sure he was dead.”

Varric shrugged. Between the shrugging and the surrender gesture, he felt like his body was stuck in a loop. He either had too much knowledge he didn’t want or not enough to get anything done properly. It was really starting to bug him.

“The how and the why don’t really matter at this point. When we lost Haven the bastard showed himself. It’s definitely him. Oh, and he has a dragon this time.”

At the sound of the “d” word, Dragon lifted his head, getting a scratching behind his ears from Fenris. Shaking his head and grinning, the elf sat back down in the finely upholstered chair. “Of course he does. I would expect nothing less from a magister of Tevinter.”

A grimace painted Varric’s face. “Uh, speaking of your former homeland, I should tell you we’ve got a couple Vints here. Good people trying to do good work, but one is a mage.”

Fenris scowled. “Will I have to work with this person?”

“I don’t know, elf. Sparkler’s a good guy from what I can tell. He’s an altus not a magister. Smart, sassy, bit of a rebel, kind of your type, actually, despite the magic, of course.”

The elf hrumphed and took another sip of wine. “Anyone else I should be wary of?”

“There’s the Iron Bull. Qunari. Really big horns. The Inquisitor picked him and his men up a few weeks ago. Said he’s been to Seheron so…”

“He’s Ben-Hassrath. Why was he allowed to stay?” Fenris frowned. 

“Ah, you know him? Small world, elf.”

“As you say. I worked with his Chargers once. Long before we met. I was too conspicuous to stay with them.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Of course you did. Ever the self-sacrificer, you left to protect them, right? Ah, elf. Never change.”

Toasting his friend before taking a sip, Varric let the wine settle on his tongue. It really was very good stuff. “He came right out with it, the spying stuff. The Inquisitor let him stay because they can help each other. Maybe even enlist Qunari help if things really go to shit.”

“Let us hope it never gets as bad as that, dwarf. I know enough of the Qun to steer well clear.”

“Hmmm. Yeah. So anyway. You can see what kind of mess we’re in. Don’t know how much you’ve heard but things are really fragile right now. We need all the help we can get. There’s a lot of good people here, trying to fix this mess. Hawke’s endorsement would go a long way to legitimizing this whole operation.”

Standing, Fenris paced the small room, glass held loosely in his hand. “I take it you have a plan? You always do.”

Varric gave him a nod. “Sure do. It’s not great, but under the circumstances, it’s the best I’ve got.”

With a gesture from Fenris, the dwarf continued. 

“We need someone to actually become Hawke, permanently. Or at least as long as we need him. Has to be a mage, of course, but some out of the way apostate. Some nobody.”

Fenris was nodding, sipping his wine as Varric filled in a few more details, rounding out the whole picture of the Inquisition and it’s leader, available resources, and the copious elfroot reserves.

“And my part in all this?” the elf asked, his face a mask of calm that betrayed the gears Varric knew were turning in his head.

He was in, the dwarf could tell already. With the warrior on board, this whole mess might actually turn out okay.

“Besides the fact that you had the crate of Hawke stuff and “Hawke’s” mabari? You’ve got the best eye for candidates. We need you to recruit the man who’ll fill the shoes.”

Fenris raised his glass to Varric. “Flattery will get you nowhere, dwarf. You also mean you need someone who can get this man ready to face the world as the legendary Garrett Hawke. That is no small task.” 

Varric nodded. “Sorry to drag you into all this. I know we were all trying to put Kirkwall behind us, or at least leaving Hawke in the past, where legends are supposed to go.”

Silent for a moment, Fenris pondered the last dregs in his glass, sticking to the sides as he swirled it around.

“It is not what I wanted, that is true. But Hawke and Corypheus are my responsibility as much as yours or any of ours. I shall help however I can. If that means making Hawke real, then so be it.”

The dwarf chuckled. “With you dogging his heels I feel sorry for the poor bastard and I haven’t even met him yet.”

Fenris sat down, swallowing the last sip from his glass. 

“The fate of all Thedas and we are putting it in the hands of an apostate once more.” The elf shook his head. “This is going to take a lot more wine.”

With a nod, Varric filled Fenris’s glass again and they began to plan in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have tendonitis in my right hand! Isn't that just awesome? 
> 
> No. No, it's not. It's terrible. Haven't been able to write for days. Really wanted to get this chapter out. Ugh.
> 
> Thankfully, I'm on the mend, slowly but surely. 
> 
> I hope this chapter establishes Varric and Fenris's relationship clearly. They're a little different than what you might be used to seeing, or at least Fenris is. Internal canon for this AU is Fenris/Isabela during the Kirkwall years and she got him through a lot of his bigger issues post-Danarius and helped him kill the magister when shit went down at the Hanged Man.
> 
> BTW, feel free to ask questions about the internal canon. I'm still fleshing it out and answering your questions will help clarify things.
> 
> Oh, and yeah, I went with the canon (rather than fanon) Elf nickname rather than Broody. It just fits this Fenris better. Regardless of if it's canon or AU, I always see Inquisition era Fenris as fairly confident and self-assured and much less likely to brood.
> 
> I've got a solid outline and endgame planned, and with the tendonitis, I think I'll be good with a weekly schedule, so keep an eye out for Sunday updates.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	4. I'm Not Calling You a Liar

The trip to Redcliffe was an utter failure. Fenris had been there a week and had not been able to find anyone who would make even a halfway decent Hawke. They were all too young, too old, or too well known among the gathered mages.

His cover story that he was recruiting for a special Inquisition detachment of mages had at least yielded a few hearty souls looking to do some real good in the fight. Fenris only hoped the Inquisitor could actually find some special task for them when they made their way to Skyhold. 

There was one woman who might have made the cut as Hawke, an aggressive yet funny and talented mage with a scar across her nose and a penchant for fireballs, but she had unfortunately hinted that she knew exactly who Fenris was and that she had looked up to the Champion of Kirkwall since reading Varric’s book. Besides being female, which would put a delicate lie at even more risk of being exposed, she was a bit too familiar with the Tale and excited to meet him for Fenris’s comfort. She also kept asking questions about where Hawke was and eyed Dragon a bit too covetously. Still she was a powerful, talented mage. When he got back to the Inquisition headquarters, he made a note to recommend she lead the new detachment he found himself unintentionally gathering.

When the elf tried to find out if there were any apostates still on the run who might be interested in serving the Inquisition, he was told over and over that “If they wanted to be found, they know where we are. And if they’re not here, they don’t want to be found.”

At least Dragon had been having some fun.

Fenris watched as the massive mabari, the third in his line to carry the name, played fetch with the older children and allowed the smallest to climb on top of him, pulling his ears.

Tomorrow they would begin the long trip back to Skyhold. Two months spent journeying around Ferelden had shown Fenris little more than the local mages’ ability to go to ground and the remaining Templars’ skill at hunting them down. He had seen far too many dead mages in his time in Kirkwall to be trusting of the armored Templar soldiers, though now with the threat of them being infected with red lyrium, he was sure to steer clear of them completely, along with the rather unsettling amount of red lyrium veins he had stumbled upon.

It was one of the strangest experiences in his memory to feel relative safety in the company of so very many mages. Still, Redcliffe was not the success he hoped it would be and he would return to Skyhold empty-handed. He only hoped Orlais would bring better luck, though he knew only a fool would trust in the Orlesians when the fate of the world was on the line. 

 

The air was crisp and clear the next day when Fenris set out on a fresh horse, courtesy of the Inquisition’s newly acquired herd, Dragon trotting obediently at his side and a pouch full of letters for the Inquisitor in his saddlebag.

It was a ten day journey back to Skyhold and the land, while starkly beautiful, was showing the signs of autumn in its leaves and grasses. While the lowlands were still fertile with a tired end-of-summer green, the further into the foothills Fenris travelled, the colder and browner it got. Ferelden was the land where Fenris was forced to wear shoes or risk frostbite.

On a cloudy afternoon more than halfway into the journey, the warrior was considering stopping early for the day, his ass feeling a little more saddle-sore than usual. The morning’s terrain had been particularly uneven and rocky and the horse he rode was fidgety, prone to trotting at inopportune moments that would bounce the elf hard until he found the animal’s rhythm before it abruptly dropped back into a walk. Dragon, completely oblivious to Fenris’s plight, was bounding through the long grass on the side of the hard-packed, and now thankfully even, path they were following. Fenris watched as he chased a rabbit down, but froze mid-chase, the dog’s attention shifting toward some sound as his hackles raised. Just like his forebears, Dragon was trained for battle and picked up the sound of a skirmish long before Fenris.

“Where, Dragon?” Fenris called to the dog and watched as he headed further off the path, toward the remains of a large rock fall that had long ago grown over with moss.

Nudging the horse into a canter, Fenris rode to the rock fall where he dismounted and secured the animal. The sound of arrows hitting their mark and angry grunting reached his ears as he shook his legs out until feeling returned to them, curling his toes in his new boots uncomfortably. Another arrow thwacked into its target and an inhuman howl reverberated off the rocks. Whoever was fighting, both sides were holding their own.

Creeping around the edge of the rock fall, he could see the skirmish laid out before him. A man, an archer, with only a few arrows left in his quiver, fighting two malformed creatures wearing what was once Templar armor. 

Fenris unsheathed his sword and stepped toward the combatants. For a moment he thought the creatures might have been demons by their look before he felt an odd sensation pulling on the lyrium in his skin. 

He hadn’t heard the corrupting song of red lyrium since he and Varric and their companions had battled the crazed Knight-Commander of Kirkwall a few years ago. It’s song was cloying, distracting, and his own blue lyrium fought against its power just as surely as if it knew the stuff was poison to any who touched it.

The archer knocked his last arrow as Fenris advanced on the former Templars. Surprised to see someone join the fray, his shot missed the mark it was aimed for, embedding itself in one of the creature’s shoulders instead of its head.

“Hey! You made me miss!” the man yelled, pulling two razor sharp daggers from their sheaths.

“I could leave once more if you would prefer.”

Fenris growled the words out, but did not wait for a response, instead dodging a sword strike aimed for his midsection and slipping in under the Templar’s guard, jamming his own sword up through the creature’s gut.

It roared, pulling away from him and slicing back around with its own blade, aiming badly in its rage. Fenris dodged the attack, weaving around the blade, igniting his own lyrium to draw on the extra burst of speed it gave him.

But activating his lyrium caused an unintended consequence. The Templars, red crystals growing from every orifice and encrusting their bodies, were drawn to the purity of the veins tattooed into his skin. Both of them were on him in a flash of movement. As he parried attacks from both of them, he heard low growling nearby. 

“Dragon. Stand down,” he ordered the mabari, who whined in response.

Contact with lyrium of any kind was lethal and the dog’s instinctual defense was to bite. Concern for his canine companion broke Fenris’s concentration only for a split second, but it was enough that one of the creatures he fought got past his guard. 

At first he did not even realize he had been injured, but within a moment, his right leg began to weaken. Drawing on his lyrium gave him the strength he needed back two fold and he pressed forward against the creatures once more.

He had lost sight of the archer and couldn’t spare a second to look for the man. There was no telling if he was still in the fight or if he had fled. Fenris was starting to wish he had run off himself, especially if the man’s disappearance meant he was left to take down these two corrupted creatures on his own.

A lucky break a few moments later allowed the elvhen warrior to slice the head cleanly off the Templar he had stabbed through the gut earlier, but the motion carried him a step too far and left him open to attack again as he adjusted his balance.

He turned quickly to face the remaining creature as it bore down on him only to see a long dagger emerge from between the thing’s eyes. A moment later it fell on its face, dead, landing with a thump that stirred up a puff of dust from the ground and a loud crack echoed from its corpse as the red lyrium shattered.

The archer appeared in its place and looked Fenris up and down, a grin painted across his face. Fenris scowled at him. This was neither the time nor place for smiling. In fact, it was Fenris’s opinion that smiles were a rare commodity that should be doled out in small dosages and only with the very best of friends and copious bottles of the finest vintage of Aggregio Pavali. Even better if he had a winning hand of Wicked Grace and a full pouch of gold. Despite the warrior’s opinion on the matter, the man continued to smirk, not a drop of sweat on his brow.

“No need to thank me, friend. All in a day’s work.” 

The archer’s tone was cocky as he twirled his other dagger in his hand, as if Fenris was the one who had been attacked and not the other way around.

Fenris grunted, wary of this stranger now that the fight was over. “They were not as much a risk to me as to you, serrah. This area is known to be unsafe.”

“Not a risk to you, eh? Well, that one,” the man pointed at the creature that still had the man’s dagger poking from the back of its head, “was definitely going to take a chunk out of your skull. And I just thought to myself ‘Wouldn’t that be a waste of a perfectly handsome elf?’”

The adrenaline of battle still rushing through Fenris’s veins combined with the absurdity of this rogue taking it all in stride and the man’s completely inappropriately timed attempt to flirt all served to short circuit the elf’s mind. 

He chuckled, his ears growing hot. 

Had it been a decade before, he would have been angered and embarrassed, but the years he spent fighting, and more, by Isabela’s side had tempered his tolerance for such comments. It had been a long time since anyone had flirted with him, not the least because most people he had met lately were slavers about to find his sword sticking from their gut or Dragon’s jaws around their necks. Not exactly grounds for establishing a new romance. 

As it was, the chuckle simply burst out of Fenris before he had a chance to think and he quickly tried to cover the gut reaction with a cough. 

The man raised an eyebrow at him, still smirking.

The archer opened his mouth to reply when Fenris gasped suddenly. The strength of the lyrium faded as his adrenaline wore off and the pain of his wound made him drop his sword with a clang on the ground, hands moving to put pressure on the wound. Strong hands grabbed him gently, propping Fenris up as he stumbled. The pain left Fenris humbled enough to not fight the uninvited contact.

“There there, I’ve got you. My camp is nearby. I have healing supplies.”

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, hoping he truly was in safe hands.

“The name’s Kestrel, by the way,” the man told him, arm wrapped around Fenris’s waist as they walked to the short distance to his camp. “Gideon Kestrel.”

“Fenris,” the elf replied. “Of Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall? Damn. An I’m sorry is in order I guess?” 

Gideon held onto Fenris as he reached down, grabbing his sword and sheathing it before they continued on, Dragon trailing happily behind them.

“Well, Fenris of Kirkwall,” Gideon chuckled. “I hope you like nug stew. I’m fresh out of blood mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not just Varric. I may or may not be an unreliable narrator as well. 
> 
> I also may have lied about a Sunday posting schedule, but let's be honest, you all want to see what happens next and won't mind if I give you chapters when they're done instead, right? Hell, I know what happens next and I can't wait to see either. Like, bouncing in my chair excited. Every time I read the outline I start giggling. 
> 
> Sorry, I'm such a tease. :)
> 
> In other news, the tendonitis is better! I am taking it slow and careful, but I may even be able to game a little this weekend. Which would be awesome because I've got less than a bloody hour left on my first Trespasser playthrough. Or I might, ya know, write some more of this fic. 
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments and kudos! They mean the world to me and really brighten my day. <3


	5. The Beginning after the End

Gideon’s camp was under an overhang of rocks not far from where they had just defeated the Red Templars. It was easy to miss, a well-hidden space that didn’t look like it had been used more than a night or two. The embers of the fire the man had been using to cook with were still glowing red when they got there, the stewpot bubbling along.

“Looks like it didn’t burn. That’s a mercy.”

The archer set Fenris down gently before giving the pot a quick stir and then going over to his pack.

“I don’t have much in the way of supplies. A bit of healing potion and a couple bandages, but it should be enough to get you on your way.”

Fenris nodded, watching Gideon moving around the small space. “Thank you. I have some supplies with my horse as well. I can replenish yours when we are finished.”

Gideon waved him off. “No need. I was going to stock up in the next village. I… I don’t look it, but I have a little coin.”

He rustled through his pack for a bit, Fenris watching his every move. Very few people strayed from the road nowadays and it took an epic fool indeed to risk traveling alone. And yet this man did, a solitary archer and rogue with very little armor, from what Fenris could see. 

He looked Ferelden. He had that same way of moving through the world that reminded the elf of Dragon, who sat panting nearby. He wasn’t oafish, the way Orlesians had a habit describing their Eastern cousins, but there was something earthy about the man. His hair was long, brown and tied back in a pony tail with a red scrap of silk and a brown, full beard covered his face.

He turned back towards Fenris and the elf noted his blue eyes sparkles with piercing intelligence a trickster’s glee.

“Here we are! Healing potion and a clean bandage. Let’s get those pants off.”

Fenris squinted at him, but the man only chuckled.

“Your leg? Your wound? We need to bind it. I promise I won’t make any moves.” He waggled his eyebrows at Fenris. Ridiculous. “Well, at least not until you’re feeling better.”

Rolling his eyes, Fenris untied the laces of his breeches and slid them down past his knees. He caught Gideon staring before realizing he was caught and abruptly returning his attention to the task at hand. 

“The markings.” Fenris’s voice was dry and even as he spoke. “Everyone wonders. They were forced upon me by my former master. I killed him in a pub in Kirkwall, with the help of some friends.”

Gideon gave him a tight smile and a nod. “Ah. I… see. They’re… would it be bad to say they’re beautiful?”

Fenris grunted and shrugged. “They are meant to be so. I believe Danarius meant to emulate the elvhen Lyrium Warriors of old.”

Nodding, Gideon handed Fenris the flask of healing potion, which he sipped from as the man unrolled the bandage and moved to wrap his leg. 

As Gideon placed the end of the bandage down, his fingers pressed against one of the markings running down Fenris’s thigh. It immediately lit up, the blue light running through the markings in all directions. Gideon pulled his hand off as if he’d been shocked and a barely-aimed fireball shot from his finger tips, hitting a small shrub nearby and causing Dragon to sit up, ears perked and at attention.

“Maker’s balls! What the fuck was that?”

Gideon sat back from Fenris, looking as if he might bolt. The elf squinted at him, cocking his head to the side.

“You are no rogue.”

It wasn’t a question. There was only one reason for Fenris’s markings to react the way they had at the man’s touch. 

Gideon frowned at him in return.

“I think maybe you’d better patch yourself up and go.”

The flirting, light-hearted tone was gone from Gideon’s voice. There was steel in his spine now, which Fenris already found himself admiring, despite his surprise. This man was not fearful with his secret talents exposed like apostates would be in his position. Instead he spoke as if he was laying down a challenge.

“I have no reason to turn you over to any authority, Gideon. If you are a mage, you have nothing to fear from me. I work with the Inquisition.”

Gideon hesitated. Fenris could read the thoughts written on his face as the man ran through every escape route and possible outcome. It was a swirl of emotions the elf remembered all too well from his own time on the run. Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

The mage pursed his lips, eyes squinting in a look that told Fenris he was definitely not trusted. Not yet. But it seemed that the word “Inquisition” carried some weight, even in the wilds of the Hinterlands.

“I’ve heard about the Inquisition recruiting mages. Apostates and Circle mages alike, is that true?”

While Gideon hadn’t sat down, at least he had not run. Fenris nodded at him.

“Yes. That is what I am doing now, actually. I am returning to Skyhold from Redcliffe on a recruitment mission for the Inquisitor herself.”

Gideon pondered a moment. “I see. And you’re looking for mages? To help the Inquisition?”

With a nod from Fenris, the man thought another moment. “I… I don’t know. Been on my own for ages now. I was headed to Antiva, maybe Rivain. I heard there was less fighting up there. And no weird rifts spitting out demons.”

This mage was not completely mad then. A healthy fear of what was going on was encouraging. Perhaps he would be less prone to making reckless decisions in battle, unlike the stories Fenris had been hearing of the Circle mages in their fight against the Templars. Too many young, inexperienced mages had resorted to blood magic and succumbed to possession. Fenris had seen more than a few himself in his travels.

“You fight well,” he told Gideon, his tone even. “I would not have known you were a mage unless my lyrium betrayed you. And yet I would not be concerned facing battle at your side, even without your magic.”

Gideon smirked a little. His shoulders relaxed. “I was taught by the best. A little group of fighters. They’re spread all over now, or at least most of them are.”

Wincing at the pain in his leg, Fenris shifted his weight.

“And yet you choose to hide your magic, to not use the one thing that can truly set you apart in battle. You could have dispatched those two creatures with much greater ease using a fireball such as the one you just produced.”

The man was silent for a moment, Fenris patiently waiting for his response. Many thoughts were going through the elf’s mind, not the least of which was that this man would fill the role of Hawke better than any candidate he was likely to find anywhere. But would he be willing? Could he be trusted? He still did not have the measure of this man.

“I have…” Gideon hesitated, looking Fenris up and down for a second and seemingly coming to some decision based on the lyrium markings in his skin. “I have been on my own for a long time. I’ve always been an apostate, but I did have family. They… my father knew someone, an old Dalish woman who had left her clan for some reason we never knew. She was a disgraced First or something. Anyway, she taught me for a while, and I figured the rest out on my own.”

He picked the bandage back up, checking to see if it was still clean enough for use before stepping forward and kneeling next to Fenris again. He returned to bandaging the wound, Fenris remaining silent as the man worked and pondered.

“I do have some healing magic if you would like me to use it.”

Fenris pursed his lips. While he had come to accept the benefits of healing magic during battle, it still made him uncomfortable more than he would like to admit. A few too many times it had caused more pain than the original wound itself. Still, if this man was to join the Inquisition, if he was deemed to be the man who would fill Hawke’s shoes, it might be best to have an idea of his capabilities before they arrived at the fortress. He also knew it would be a show of faith, not an easy thing for Fenris to do when it came to mages. But time had changed him, his friendships with Anders and Merrill wearing down the rough edges of his hate. He knew now that not all magic was evil and harmful and something about the way this mage took great pains to hide his abilities made him more vulnerable and even trustworthy somehow.

“That would be… acceptable. Thank you.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m not the best at this. Just let me know if you feel any discomfort.”

Fenris chuckled. “Not exactly what I would consider comforting words.”

“Ah. Yeah.” Gideon chuckled. “Bedside manner. I did mention I’ve been on my own for a while, right?”

A blue glow gathered in Gideon’s palm and he gingerly placed it over Fenris’s wound. Doing his best not to react one way or the other, inwardly Fenris braced himself against pain. 

The pain never came. Instead, this mage’s healing pulsed smoothly, warmly, through the wound, drawing it closed neatly and stopping the bleeding.

Pulling away a moment later, Gideon shook his head as if to clear it.

“Sorry I can’t finish closing it completely… that lyrium… whew.”

“You are not the first mage to be overwhelmed by the sensation.” Fenris tried his best to sound reassuring. He wasn’t sure if he pulled it off, it wasn’t his strong suit, as Merrill could attest. “I am accustomed to healing on my own without help.”

Finishing the bandage, Gideon helped Fenris roll his breeches back up over the wound. 

“Fenris… Fenris…” Gideon was half talking to himself, his brow crinkled in thought. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

The elf cleared his throat. This was exactly what he was hoping would not happen. 

“Have you heard of the Tale of the Champion? It is a book a friend of mine wrote.”

Gideon looked thoughtful. “No… but your name is definitely stirring up the nugs in my head.”

Sighing, Fenris shifted a little and began to stand. He was a little unsteady on his feet from the unexpected drain on the lyrium, but the pain in his leg was down to a dull throb. 

“I need to get my horse. She is bound to be agitated, she is not an animal trained for battle.”

Gideon stood up, offering Fenris his arm to steady himself, but the elf waved him off. 

“What do you know of what happened in Kirkwall?”

“The mage rebellion, you mean? Heard it was a mess. Lots of blood magic, lots of crazed Templar shit. I only heard fifth or sixth hand stories.”

With a nod, Fenris headed away from the little camp and toward his horse.

“Walk with me and I will tell you some of the tale. Then you will have a first hand account to compare it to.”

Gideon’s eyes widened and he nodded. “Oh, yes, that would be exactly where I heard the name. You’re THAT Fenris of Kirkwall. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Was it as bad as I’ve heard?”

Fenris nodded. “I am sad to say that it was so.”

As they rounded up Fenris’s horse, who had managed to untie herself, but had not gone far, thankfully, the elf gave Gideon a relatively brief description of what had happened at the Gallows and the aftermath that followed. He left Hawke out of the story as much as he could, though if the man had heard of Fenris, than it was pretty impossible that he hadn’t heard of the Champion. Few in Ferelden didn’t know the name of their local hero.

Back at the camp, Fenris pulled a few supplies out of his pack, offering them up for the cook pot they were sharing for the evening.

“In the end,” Fenris told the mage, “The mages of Kirkwall were bound to rebel, it was only a matter of time. Anders was a catalyst, yes, but if it had not been him, it would have been some other.”

“Do you… think it is better this way? With the mages free?” Gideon asked, his face remained neutral as Fenris told the story.

It took the elf some time to answer the question. It was one he had pondered often over the last few years. 

“I do not think this war was the answer. A peaceful evolution of the Circles would have been preferable.” Fenris sighed. “Though I know from experience that sometimes one must turn and face the tiger. Perhaps this is that time for the mages. I only hope some good can come of all this.”

Gideon nodded, looking at his hands for a long while.

“Would the… I want to help. My family… they all… Would the Inquisition want someone like me around? I can be… undisciplined compared to what I’ve seen Circle mages do.”

At this Fenris chuckled. This had to be the man. There was no way he was going to get so lucky again. 

“The Inquisition could use someone like you. The Circle mages were kept under lock and key and never trained for battle. You are a mage, but from what I have seen, you fight like a warrior.” Gideon looked up, meeting Fenris’s eyes and the elf saw something, some spark in them. “Come with me to Skyhold?”

Without even a moment’s pause, the mage responded. 

“Yes, I think I would like to, actually.” He began laughing then. “Andraste’s tits. What am I getting myself into?”

For a brief moment, Fenris felt bad misleading him. Gideon seemed almost at peace here in the Hinterlands, fending for himself and with relatively little to fear from Corypheus if he kept his head down. And Antiva, yes, he too had heard it was quiet there. Fenris would almost consider going there himself if it weren’t for the mess he and Varric and the others had made. 

But the world needed Hawke now and so he was bound to that fate. 

“I am not sure any of us knows what we are getting into when we start out, but we find our way.” 

Fenris smiled at him as Gideon nodded and began dishing out their meal. After they ate, Fenris pulled out a bottle of wine he had stashed in a saddle bag. After pouring it into a couple of cups, he held his up in a toast and a prayer that when it came to making this man Hawke he wasn’t making a bad mistake worse.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Gideon Kestrel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This is a longer one, for me anyway. And harder than you would think to write!
> 
> My usual style is a bit more formal and fancy in my word choice. I'm basically writing this as if Varric is writing it, so it took a couple passes to make the narrative voice sound right. 
> 
> Oh, and yeah, the cat's out of the bag now. Mage!Hawke is one step closer to joining the Inquisition. Purple!Hawke is such a challenge for me. Fenris is cake to write in comparison. We speak similarly. But Hawke? He's tough. Hope you all like my take on him. I'm going to keep working hard to make him feel right.
> 
> Did I mention yet the outline is pretty much done? Never set in stone, of course, but it's at 20-23 chapters right now, so that will give you an idea of how long this thing will get. Somewhere around 40k words, if you're interested in that kind of thing. 
> 
> Okay, I'm rambling now m'dears. Next chapter will go up as soon as it's done. Rather than a particular posting day, I'm just going to say I'll do my best to keep it a week or less between updates and you can check in on my tumblr (swooningtrash.tumblr.com) and I'll post there if there is going to be a longer delay.
> 
> Right. This is me. Stopping the rambling.
> 
> Thank you all so very much for your amazing, kind, and wonderful comments and kudos and bookmarks and things. It excites me that you're excited and that keeps this fic coming. :)


	6. Strange Reunions

Skyhold was buzzing with activity these days. Pilgrims from all over Thedas came to lend aid and possibly get a glimpse of the Herald of Andraste. Refugees arrived in the wake of battles fought against Corypheus’s army. A few travelers and merchants even came to trade their wares and generally gawk at the whole spectacle of the Inquisition as it came into its own.

Varric was walking towards the newly opened Herald’s Rest when someone yelled across the bustling courtyard.

“Ooh! There he is! Varric!”

Before the dwarf could get a good look at who was calling out to him, a blur came flying at him and he soon found himself wrapped in a full-contact Merrill hug.

“Oof! Daisy! Well, well. You weren’t supposed to be getting here until tomorrow.”

Merrill laughed, squeezing him harder. “I know! But Isabela got a very nice looking man bring us up here in his wagon. She promised him something, but whispered it in his ear so it must have been dirty. You know how she is.”

Varric nodded, smirking as he extracted himself from her hug and did his best to regain his breath. “Yes, Daisy, I’m pretty sure I do know exactly how our dear Isabela is.”

“Someone mention my name?”

The Rivaini sea captain strode up behind Merrill with a swagger unmatched on this end of Thedas, possibly all of Thedas, if one were being honest about it. She bent over and gave Varric a kiss on the cheek.

“Still as handsome and hairy as ever, Varric?” she teased.

Varric cleared his throat and chuckled. “Sure sure, Rivaini. I know you only came all this way for another look at my chest.”

“Definitely. You know, I sold my ship again to get Kitten and me up to this Maker-forsaken place. The least you can do is let me fondle your chest hair for a little while.”

“Friends of yours, Varric?”

A voice boomed out behind the dwarf, but he didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

“Andraste’s knickers.” Isabela sounded genuinely shocked. “You’re a Qunari. Varric, there’s a Qunari here.”

“Yes, there is.” Varric turned to face the Qunari behind him. “Isabela, captain of the Siren’s Call and Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas, allow me to introduce you to The Iron Bull. The Qunari are with us this time. Well, at least this one is.”

Merrill piped up. “You won’t be skewering any of our friends then? I don’t like it very much when that happens.”

Bull chuckled, hands on his hips. “No, I won’t be doing that. At least not unless the Boss asks me to.”

“The Boss?” Isabela asked, sizing Bull up but Varric couldn’t tell if it was to figure out how much of a threat he was or if those horns would fit into a ship cabin’s bunk.

“He means the Inquisitor. Herald of Andraste. First of her name or whatever it is they’re calling me now.”

A Danish elf woman appeared from behind The Iron Bull. Merrill looked a little wary of her, but the Inquisitor nodded to her with a smile.

“Aneth ara, Merrill of Clan Sabrae.”

Merrill dropped her tensed shoulders and smiled. “Ma serannas. What clan are you from?”

“Lavellan. And I am sorry for the loss of your clan’s Keeper and your position as First. Varric told me the tale.”

Merrill nodded, frowning. “What’s done is done now. I take care of the elvhen in the Kirkwall Alienage. We are forming a new clan and they want me to be Keeper, can you imagine?”

Varric patted her shoulder. “You’ve been doing good work there, Daisy. They trust you.”

With a blush, Merrill smiled.

“Merrill, I would love to chat with you later, but that’s not actually why I came out here.” Lavellan held out a small scroll to Varric. “This came by one of our ravens. It’s been marked for you.”

An eyebrow raised, Varric took the scroll and unrolled it quickly. Reading the contents, Varric shook his head with a grin spreading across his lips.

“The elf still can’t spell ‘suitable’ right. It’s been ages, but that one he can’t seem to conquer.”

He took another moment to read the letter. When he looked up, he found Merrill watching him expectantly while Isabela inspected her finger nails.

“It’s from Fenris,” he told them, keeping his voice low. “He stopped at an outpost near where Haven used to be and camped. He’s found someone who might be our Hawke. They’ll get here tomorrow.”

Lavellan nodded. “I’ll be sure the others know. For now, why don’t you all get settled? I’ve had Josephine prepare a room for you. Varric mentioned you didn’t mind sharing? Things are a little tight while we get this place fixed up and there are more people streaming in every day.”

Isabela nodded, a smirk on her face. “Of course we don’t mind. I get a little lonely when there’s not something warm to cuddle up to on a cold night and Kitten’s never minded sharing, have you, sweet thing?”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all. You’re so cozy and cuddly, Isabela. Like a hot water bottle, but, you know, one that could shank you if you’re not careful.”

Isabela grinned and kissed her on the cheek. Varric just shook his head and led them toward the back stairway.

*

“It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? Doing this again? Sneaking around, making a new Hawke. I always liked him. You wrote him so well, Varric, I sometimes forget he wasn’t real.”

Merrill practically skipped through the halls, pausing to sniff as they got close to their rooms. “Oh Varric, are we near the kitchens? That makes it easy to find.”

Isabela paused in front of their door. She looked pensive, but as perceptive as Merrill could be, she didn’t seem to notice, continuing to natter on about the scent of baked goods giving her dreams about eating something and being afraid to wake to find she’d eaten her pillow.

“Kitten, would you mind if I talk to Varric on my own for a bit? You can get settled and make sure the bed’s nice and soft like I like it, okay?”

Merrill squeezed her arm.

“Of course. I might go exploring later, too.”

“The place is pretty big and winding, don’t get too lost, Daisy.” Varric cautioned her. “It’s a bit run down, too.”

Merrill nodded with a grin. “Of course. I’ll be quite careful. And if I’m lost, I can follow my nose.”

Once the elf had entered their room, Isabela turned to Varric.

“Your place?” she asked and he nodded, gesturing that she enter the room before him.

“What’s the story, Rivaini? Not like you to have a furrowed brow.”

He poured her a glass of amber liquor and she sipped it slowly. She wasn’t here to get drunk then, either.

“How is Fenris?” she asked, turning the glass in her hand and not meeting Varric’s eye.

He shrugged. “His usual self from what I could tell. Playing it close to the chest, noticing everything, you know… Fenris.”

He watched her and she nodded, still thinking, but not saying anything.

“Look, Bela, he told me you two ended it. Seemed fine about it from what I could tell. He wasn’t even brooding. Is there something I’m missing?”

The pirate seemed to brighten at his words.

“Not brooding? Just smoldering as always?” she asked.

Varric laughed and took a sip from his glass. “Well, you’ll have to be the judge on the smoldering part. He’s not really my type, but yeah, he seemed… good. I mean for Fenris anyway. Dragon’s been keeping him safe and he’s got so many notches on that belt of his there must be a string of slaver bodies trailing behind him long enough to stretch the Waking Sea.”

Isabela openly laughed at that before she smiled tightly and nodded.

“Good. Good. I was… I was the one who left, or who started the ending anyway. I wasn’t sure if he was lying when he said it was okay.”

Reaching forward, Varric patted her knee.

“You’re fine, Rivaini. Just fine. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. I don’t think anyone’s tried to guess his underwear color in ages.”

“Five gold says it’s red.” She raised her glass to Varric and drank the rest down in a single shot.

*

Fenris’s leg was healed enough that he was able to walk into Skyhold, Gideon at his side and the horse following after with their packs. Dragon brought up the rear, stopping to sniff every rock, tree, and shrub on their way.

The last few days had been peaceful, a heavy Inquisition presence on the road meant no more Red Templars bothered them on their journey and the draw of a warm, comfortable bed had pushed them both to make good time. It was afternoon when they arrived, managing to avoid another night on the chilly slopes of the Frostbacks.

After passing a stablehand the horse’s lead, the elf gave the animal a farewell pat and headed indoors. Gideon followed after and Fenris noticed he took in every entrance and exit along the way. The man wasn’t as subtle as he could have been about it, but then he didn’t have much reason to be if he was being welcomed as an aid to the Inquisition as he was told.

Fenris had considered slipping into the fortress quietly, but there was no reason to sneak Gideon into Skyhold. After all, he was nothing like what Hawke was supposed to look like. Fenris did hope that not too many people got a good look at the man on their way through the crowd filling the main hall. On close inspection, who knew what kind of details would give them away later on.

As planned before he left, Fenris and Gideon headed directly to the War Room, knocking on the door when they got there, and the guards allowed them in. Neither said much as they waited for everyone to arrive, Fenris waiting patiently with his hands folded behind his back and Gideon pacing, but not overtly agitated. The Inquisitor and her advisors got there first, their offices not too far from where they were needed often. Introductions were made all around and the Inquisitor called for some food and drink for them all.

Varric and the others came in a few minutes later. Merrill greeting them both with enthusiasm.

“Welcome! I’m Merrill. Always lovely to meet another mage.” She beamed at Gideon, but Fenris noted how she gave the man a quick once over as well before giving a subtle nod to Varric.

“You too, Merrill,” Gideon replied.

The dwarf stepped forward, offering his hand. “Gideon, right? Good to meet you.”

Gideon nodded to him, shaking his hand, but his attention was quickly drawn to Isabela. She moved forward and didn’t hesitate before stepping close to Fenris.

“Okay?” she asked and the elf nodded. Her cautious look turned into a suggestive smirk. “Good. I think green today?”

Fenris coughed and turned a little red. “Grey.”

“Hmm. Boring. But so typically you.” She kissed his cheek, bringing her hand up to caress his face.

“And this is Isabela,” Fenris introduced her.

Gideon nodded to her, but didn’t offer his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Fenris noted the mage sounded a little stiff when he replied, almost adversarial, but if Isabela noted it, she didn’t say anything, just giving him an obvious top to bottom assessment and a wink before taking her place next to Merrill.

Their meeting was brief, the Inquisitor welcoming a fellow mage to Skyhold and thanking him for his help. They all had a bit of food and then the Kirkwall crew and their newest recruit were dismissed to their quarters. Gideon would be bunking in the last remaining room near the kitchens and once he was settled in, Fenris went to Varric’s room.

“So, you’ve been with him for a few days now. Your thoughts on him change?” Varric asked before the elf had even taken his first sip of wine.

Fenris shook his head. “No change. He is the man we need. He has a natural sense of humor and is a powerful mage.”

“The hair will have to change.” Varric fiddled with the pen in his hand. “But he does have the right build.”

Fenris nodded with a wry grin. “Isabela seemed to think so.”

The dwarf chuckled. “He has all his original parts. Of course she thinks he does.”

“And I…” Fenris hesitated which got Varric’s attention. The elf didn’t mince words. He chose carefully and when he paused like that, experience had shown that it was usually important.

“I find I rather like him. As a person, I mean. He is… I believe he is a good man.”

Varric bit back on a variety of possible responses that might set the warrior off, but mentally jotted them down for the book he was already writing in his head.

“I’m glad to hear he’s good people, Elf. I knew you had to be the one to find our man.”

Fenris cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

Once Varric had the full story of how Fenris had discovered the man who would become Hawke, taking copious notes of course, the elf went back to his room.

Not long after he left, Isabela came knocking on Varric’s door.

“So?” she asked and there was something mischievous in her tone that made Varric suspicious somehow.

“So, what, Rivaini?” he asked back, eyebrow raised.

“So are they playing ‘explore the Deep Roads’ yet? Because I don't know about you, but that greeting I got sounded a little bit jealous to me.”

Her eyes were sparkling in a very worrying way. Varric chuckled at her, shaking his head.

“You know Fenris, Rivaini. What do you think?”

She sighed. “Right. So that means we’ve got a very long wait.”

“Hey,” Varric pointed his pen at her. “You’re not the one who has a publisher they have to satisfy with a new romance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey. Sorry this took a bit to get up here, but if it's any consolation, it is a bit longer than usual. :D
> 
> I might come in here and clean this up a bit later, but I didn't want to hold up the story any longer than I already have. I'll be sure to note in the next chapter notes if I do edit. 
> 
> Thank you all so very very much for your kind comments!!! You're amazing!!!


	7. Fake Empire

It was the next afternoon when the Inquisitor and her advisors gathered together with Varric, Fenris, and their newest recruit. Varric watched the mage carefully, but the man was far too calm to have any clue about what was going to be asked of him very shortly. Either that or he was a bit mad, but since this was the new Hawke they were talking to, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Either way, for Gideon’s sake, Varric hoped the mage remembered these last moments of calm before all hell broke loose in his life.

“We have a very unique and secret mission for you, Gideon.” The Inquisitor started the conversation off, but Varric could see she was hesitating. This was a lot of responsibility to hand someone they had just met. If they were smarter, or Varric hadn’t gotten them into this mess in the first place, they would have found another option. It was starting to feel a bit like Kirkwall all over again.

“We needed an unknown mage, someone who wouldn’t be recognized. That’s why we sent Fenris out to find someone like you.”

Gideon nodded, fiddling with a loose bit of bark on the edge of the war room table. “Well, you don’t get more off the beaten track than me. I think the last time I was in a building this big I was… oh wait, I’ve never actually been in a fortress like this.”

The comment sent a low chuckle around the room and Varric allowed himself to relax about one percent. 

“We need…” Josephine spoke up next, carefully chosen words carefully in place as always. “The utmost in discretion from you. And I do apologize for the position we are putting you in but I am afraid we must ask for a vow of silence from you. That whatever happens next, you shall not reveal it to any outside this room.”

Gideon raised one eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. “Riiiight. Because those kinds of promises always lead to safe and happy retirements in quiet cozy villages.”

He looked around the room at the gathered, expectant faces until he found Fenris’s. The elf remained passive, leaning against the wall near the door, but gave him a subtle nod. 

They had talked a fair bit on their way to the fortress, partly for something to do and partly because the mage was naturally sociable, far more so than the elf. Fenris told Gideon more of Tevinter and Kirkwall and Gideon shared a bit more about what he jokingly called his “life on the run, with a side order of Templars.” Fenris had allowed the mage to heal his wound further and Dragon had taken to following Gideon around just as closely as he did Fenris. 

There was a trust there and if Fenris was giving a nod, then maybe this mission wasn’t the death trap Gideon figured it might be.

“Okay. What do I have to do? Sign my name in blood? I’ll admit I’m not really great with the whole idea of handing my blood over to a, uh, former Templar, if you get my meaning.”

Josephine nodded, jotting a note on her papers. “I understand, of course, as do we all. A vow of loyalty to the Inquisition will suffice for our needs.”

Gideon gave a big shrug. “Okay, you’ve got it.”

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, holding his right hand up. “I, Gideon Kestrel, hereby swear loyalty to the Inquisition, and promise not to divulge its secrets to its enemies.”

He glanced around the room. “Does that take care of it?” he asked.

The Inquisitor nodded with a smile. “My own ceremony was barely more formal, Gideon. That works for me. Welcome to the Inquisition’s inner circle. And Operation Hawke.”

“Operation Hawk? I like hawks. Great birds. Are we rescuing some or something?” 

Gideon grinned at them all until he saw Cassandra lay a thick, tattered book on the war table, a hole through the center of it like a knife wound. The look on her face was deadly serious.

“What do you know of the Tale of the Champion, Gideon?”

The mage shrugged. “I uh… I know the broad strokes, I guess. I heard things second hand and haven’t really kept up with my reading the last couple of years. Being on the run makes it a bit hard, you see. The Hinterlands have a distinct lack of bookshelves.”

It was Varric’s turn now, the inner circle all looking to him.

“Well, see, when Kirkwall went to shit, we needed a hero, someone from the common ranks. Who better to take on the job than a Ferelden refugee, raising himself by the bootstraps, a mage who renounced blood magic, all that?”

Gideon nodded, leaning on the war table as if he owned it. “Right. So I’m guessing it’s the mage kind of Hawke we’re talking about, not the feathered kind. What’s the story? He need a rescue or something?”

Cassandra gave Varric a “well, are you going to tell him or do I have to make you do it?” look and the dwarf cleared his throat.

“Well, things get a little complicated now. This is why we needed you, and needed you to make that vow just now. We, uh, that is you…”

Cassandra groaned in frustration.

“Varric, for a published author you certainly can be a terrible storyteller.” She stepped forward, resting a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “There is no Hawke. There never was. Varric made him up to give people hope and faked the whole thing. But we need Hawke now. The Inquisition needs him. So we are asking you to take on his role. To become Hawke for us.”

Gideon crinkled his forehead, squinting at them in bewilderment. “You’re not serious.”

He looked around the room at the others. No one was laughing, in fact, they all looked even more nervous than when he had walked in.

“You are serious. Well, shit. No. No way. That’s like… painting a target on my back. That’s too much… just no.”

He put his hands up, backing away from Cassandra, who pleaded with him.

“But the Inquisition needs you, Gideon. There are so few mages who are not recognizable. We would not place this burden upon someone if we were not desperate.”

The mage paused, frowning. He glanced over at Fenris.

“You. You knew about this? This is why you brought me here?”

Fenris closed his eyes and nodded, but didn’t say anything. The Inquisitor stepped between them.

“This is not an easy mission, I know. Fate doesn’t always hand us the tasks we would prefer, trust me, I know that better than anyone. But you do want to help, that’s why you’re here, after all, right?”

Gideon paused at that, frowning and looking at his feet for a few moments as the others stood silent, waiting for his response. When he looked up, he was shaking his head.

“I can’t make a decision like this sober. I need a drink.”

Without another word, Gideon walked out of the war room, pausing only for a moment to give Fenris a harsh glare as he left.

Cullen started toward the door. “Someone should follow him, right? To make sure he doesn’t leave before we’re sure he won’t tell everyone the truth?”

Varric put a hand up. “No offense Curly, but he’s going to need a gentler touch than your men will give him. I’ll go. This is still my operation and my fault, right?”

“As you say,” the Commander responded, allowing Varric to pass by him.

The others began whispering among themselves as Varric followed the mage out the door. As he walked through the main hall, he felt more than heard Fenris following him.

“You know, Elf, those boots haven’t slowed you down a bit. If I didn’t know you better, I might not have known you were behind me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Dwarf. And I offer my aid in keeping Gideon here in the fortress.”

Varric turned abruptly to face him, the warrior just managing to stop before he ran into him.

“Andraste’s ass. Look Fenris, I know you feel bad about dragging him into all this. I know you’re becoming friends and you have few enough of those to go around. But I just don’t think it’s a good idea to have us all piling up on him just yet. He’ll think we’re forcing him into something instead of making the decision for himself.”

Fenris didn’t respond, standing there frowning. Varric wasn’t budging. He had known the elf for too long to be swayed by his “intimidation face”.

“Let me just talk to him on my own first, okay? Then you can work on begging his forgiveness after that.”

After a moment, the elf nodded and Varric turned back around, heading toward the Herald’s Rest. He could do with a good mug of ale himself after all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! 
> 
> And I just finished my first Inquisition playthrough this week! Because I take forever to play games and I also knew that once Trespasser was done, that was it until the next game comes out.
> 
> No idea what else to say so I'll keep this short.
> 
> Thank you all once again for kudos and comments. I love it and love that you're loving this fic. <3


	8. In Spite of All the Danger

While Varric had said he was going to follow Gideon, he never said how closely nor how soon. He stood at the bottom of the stairs just long enough to make sure the mage actually did enter the pub before turning toward the stables. He needed to wait until the man managed to get at least one good stiff drink in him and if he had any luck, the Iron Bull would invite him in for some of that Qunari shit he liked to drink.

After making a circuit of the merchants that had taken up residence in the courtyard and stopping in to see the new mounts that had arrived for the Inquisitor, the dwarf made his way back to the Herald’s Rest.

A figure approached him as he was passing the stairs leading to the entrance to the main hall. 

“Sister Nightingale,” he greeted her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come down from your rookery. What’s up, Red?”

Leliana smiled at Varric, but he had seen more reassuring smiles on a Carta enforcer sent to stab him than the one she was currently wearing.

“Varric. You are going to talk to our new mage friend, are you not?”

He nodded, folding his arms over his chest. “That’s the plan. Talk to him, see if I can explain the situation better.”

“I am very glad to hear that.” She was still smiling and Varric was feeling more uneasy. “It would be best for him to join the cause. He is a very powerful mage after all and would be quite useful.”

“Sure.” Varric nodded, drawing the word out as he spoke. “Well, I’ll do what I can. I’ll try to remind him he came to help and all.”

“That would be best. Memory is such a fragile thing, after all, and so easily lost.” Leliana inspected her coat for lint that wasn’t there as she spoke. “I would hate to see such a mage wandering the Western Approach with no memory how he got there.”

Varric’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but he found that words were hard to come by at the moment. The Spymaster met his eyes again and nodded.

“Good luck, Varric. I do hope Gideon listens to your wise counsel. I do think he would make a good Hawke.”

Leliana did not wait for a reply, but turned and headed back inside the main hall, leaving the dwarf to stand on his own for a moment, not completely sure he would ever sleep comfortably within Skyhold’s walls ever again.

Shaking off the chill making its way down his back, Varric strolled across the rest of the courtyard and into the Herald’s Rest. It was early in the day yet and the bright sunlight outside meant it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the tavern.

Bull was nowhere to be seen, but it only took a quick glance to find Gideon. Hood up, hunched over, the mage had three mugs in front of him and one of the barmaids was giving him a fourth. That seemed just about the right amount of drinks for a nice heart to heart.

Striding forward like he owned the place, which in a way he kind of did, considering how much gold he had slipped to the Inquisitor when they were sketching plans for the tavern, Varric dropped onto the bench across from the mage.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Gideon growled from under his hood.

He didn’t sound like he was slurring his speech yet, which meant he was holding his ale pretty well. Varric noted this for future reference. Never too early to starting knowing when your friends have hit their limits. 

Varric grunted, ignoring the subtle invitation to leave. “Noticed you have your hood up. Smart move if you don’t want anyone to recognize you. Or, you know, get to know you too well if you’re about to change identities.”

A hrmph came from under the hood and the mage took another swig from his tankard. 

The barmaid returned and gave Varric his drink. The dwarf took a sip, then placed the tankard back down and rubbed his thumb along the handle. He leaned forward a little, dropping his voice to a low whisper. The tavern was pretty quiet, but it never hurt to avoid being overheard if it could be helped.

“You know, if you decide to do this, it isn’t something you’re going to have to do on your own.”

Gideon sighed, his shoulders dropping as he shook his head.

“Look, I can see you all need help. I’m not stupid. But I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I have on my own if I took risks like this one all the time.”

Varric nodded, taking another sip of ale. It was decent stuff, sturdy and a fair number of notches above the swill he used to pretend to guzzle at the Hanged Man. 

“I know what you mean. It’s the same risk I took when I made Hawke up in the first place. And look where it landed me.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow, just visible under the man’s hood.

“As the next Viscount of Kirkwall, from what I hear. So, not so bad.” 

Gideon lifted his tankard but didn’t drink, just held it like it was able to give him an answer to all his troubles.

“Ah,” Varric chuckled. “But you’re assuming that Viscount seat is a plum assignment. For me? Not so much. But you’re right, a lot of worse shit could have happened to me. And I can do a lot of good in that corrupt old town.” 

Silence fell between them for a couple of minutes. Maryden began tuning her lute and a few more people came in. It was getting close to lunchtime. Varric’s writer’s mind was busy enough taking in the cast of characters on display that he almost missed it when the mage finally spoke, his voice low.

“I just don’t like being lied to.” Gideon sighed and sat back against the bench. “Maker’s breath, I’m an apostate. Do you think I don’t have trust issues enough already?”

Varric considered him for a moment. “Yeah, I get that. And I am sorry we had to do that, but you do know there’s a war going on, too, right? You know how hard Leliana has to work to keep our secrets under wraps? It’s rough business. There are a lot of dead bodies.”

Gideon sat up at that, the bench rocking back and then thumping against the floor again, drawing a bit of attention to their table. “Please tell me you’re not threatening me now. Seriously?”

Varric waved his hands, grinning widely to dissuade the now-curious lunchtime crowd. “No no, of course not. Well, at least I’m not. Anyway, the point is, we can’t just go around telling everyone our secrets and then I go ahead and make it harder on everyone by bringing the whole Hawke thing into this mess. It’s… look, I know you probably wanted a quiet life. But mages just don’t really get that option. This way… you can really help others like you.”

Gideon was silent, sipping his ale as he thought. 

Varric frowned, looking down at his mug. “You know, I happen to know Hawke better than anyone.” The mage in front of him chuckled, making Varric smile. “Yes, I know. It sounds like he’s real or something, right? Except to me, he is in his own way. I made him, I wrote him, and in order to make all that shit up, I had to really know him. I had know what his personality would be like, what decisions he would make, what he ate for breakfast, and who he cared about and why.”

It was Gideon’s turn to frown. 

“Not sure why that has anything to do with me, dwarf.”

Varric nodded. “I’m getting there. Look, you are being handed a lot of responsibility and a lot of power here. And you’ll be exposed in a way you probably never wanted to be. I get why you’re not so keen on taking this on. I can tell you though, that as strange as it sounds, Hawke would have done the same thing.”

The mage said nothing and Varric continued.

“Hawke is a beacon of hope and all that, but he’s also meant to be human, with worts and faults and bad judgment. That’s part of who he is. He’s also pretty damn funny and more than a bit shy of the limelight, for all his posturing.” The dwarf paused and took a swig of ale. “From what I’ve seen of you, that sounds like you, too. And along with all that, there’s a deep need to do some good to fix the fucked up stuff going on here. Hawke would know he’s one of the ones who has the power to make a difference. Is that you, too?”

The sounds of the tavern filled the space between them. Tankards clunked on tables, Maryden’s lute trilled softly, and the quiet murmur of friends and acquaintances filtered into a steady hum of comfortable noise.

After a few moments, Gideon nodded, ducking deeper into his hood. “Okay, Varric. You’ve got me. You’ve got your Hawke.”

Varric smiled, allowing his shoulders to relax a little. “Good, good. Welcome to the Inquisition. If it’s any consolation, at least you had a choice. My recruitment wasn’t nearly so friendly. Not that I’m here against my will now or anything. Though don’t tell Cassandra I said that.”

Gideon stood, taking a final swig from his tankard. “I should probably make myself scarce, if we’re actually going through with this.”

“Good plan,” Varric told him.

“Before I do though, I need to talk to the elf.”

“Ah, right. Fenris. He’s… he’s good people and he respects you, speaks highly of you and all that. He’s had a rough time of it, worse than most. Not that you need to be delicate with him or anything but just… well, go talk to him. You two should probably have it out, all things considered.”

Gideon nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a nod from the dwarf, Gideon ensured the hood he wore hid his face well and headed out into the courtyard in search of Fenris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Gid and Fenris are going to have a little chat. But yay! He's finally Hawke! Well, sort of. There's a few details he still doesn't know about yet...
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting and kudoing. I love seeing your thoughts and excitement!!!
> 
> Next chapter is already in progress, so I'll get it up as soon as it's done. Oh, and if I haven't mentioned it before, in my head this is Inquisition with a side order of DA:II, so expect some familiar dialogue/events in some new settings.


	9. Heart Won't Tell A Lie

As soon as Gideon left the Herald’s Rest he realized he had absolutely no idea where to look for Fenris. He had, however, had enough of the tavern and Varric for the moment. The dwarf seemed nice enough, sincere definitely, and he did rather have a way with words. Still, the mage didn’t know what else he would be talked into if he went back inside to ask where the elf might be hanging around.

His first thought was to make his way back up toward the rooms they all had assigned to them, near the kitchens. Easy enough place to find if you could follow your nose, but somehow the idea of sitting around a bedchamber didn’t seem Fenris’s style. He was far too restless for that, from what Gideon had seen.

As he crossed the courtyard a thought came to him. The battlements would be a good place to start his search, giving him a bird’s eye view of the outdoor areas of the fortress, if nothing else. He could rule out the grounds at a glance. Heading toward the staircase, he spotted Varric’s elf mage friend emerging from the base of one of Skyhold’s towers.

“Merrill?” he called out, not completely sure he was remembering her name right.

She turned and spotted him as he pulled his hood back a little. Hopefully she too was good with remembering faces, if not names. She grinned at him and trotted over.

“Gideon. Hello!” she greeted him. “What can I do for you?”

Her personality seemed to sparkle right out of her skin, bright as a summertime flower. No wonder Varric called her Daisy.

“I was looking for Fenris,” Gideon explained, unable to keep from matching her grin, “And I was hoping you might know where he is.”

Nodding, she bounced a little on her toes. “Oh yes, but I can’t… oooh, come this way.”

She led him over to a quieter area of the courtyard, where casual ears wouldn’t overhear them.

“He’s up that tower I just came out of, did you see?”

Gideon nodded, opening his mouth to reply when the elf continued to burble on.

“Good, yes. He’s up there working on Hawke’s things… oh! Does this mean you’ll be Hawke?”

Gideon nodded again, once more attempting to reply, but the mage was like an excited little bird. It was charming and he found himself smiling despite the fact that he was about to have words with someone who had all but betrayed him.

“Wonderful! I’m so happy! It’s been ever so long since we had him around and you do seem like a perfect fit.”

She paused long enough this time that he could get a word in. “Thank you, Merrill.”

Which lasted all of that sentence before she was off and running again. “And don’t worry. We’ll be right beside you the whole way. All of us. Isabela, me, Varric, even Fenris, for all that he is a grump sometimes. We know how hard it is.”

“Thank you, Merrill,” he was able to interject at last. Much as the elf was charming, he was anxious to get his talk with Fenris over with. “Well, I need to speak to Fenris before anything is made official, so if you’ll excuse me.”

Her hand covered her mouth as she realized she was keeping him. “Oh! Of course! Off you pop then.”

She waved him off and he turned to go, but as he did, she called to him, her tone less playful.

“Oh, before I forget. You know… Fenris and I… we’re nothing alike. Oil and water Varric always says. I guess it’s from him being a slave and me being Dalish. We just see the world very differently.” She met Gideon’s eyes and her voice dropped to a completely incongruous intensity. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t shank anyone who hurt him.”

Gideon quirked an eyebrow at her, his eyes widening at the unexpected threat.

She gave him a wide, excited grin in return and her voice was back to it’s usual bubbly tone. “I’ve always wanted to shank someone.” She mimicked stabbing someone, making an upward thrusting motion with her fist. “Varric never let me try it in battle, but it seems exciting.”

“Sure Merrill,” was all he could find it within himself to say as he nodded and backed away from her.

Gideon did his best to keep his mouth from hanging open as he turned silently and walked away.

***

Fenris’s skin glowed slightly as he held the reconstructed staff. The orb at the top glowed red in reaction to his lyrium, surrounded by the vining structure that grew from its shaft. The blade at the staff’s base was still sharp and had only needed a bit of oil to return it to its former glory. He may have once known how many fell before that blade when it was new, but the bodies had piled up quickly and the elf had lost count years ago.

He hefted it in his hand, testing its structure and stability. Stored in pieces in the false bottom of the chest he had brought with him, along with the Champion armor, it had made the journey to Skyhold undetected and undamaged.

There were footsteps on the stairs and Fenris paused, listening as they climbed toward him. They did not belong to his companions, but he had grown familiar with them over the last week.

Fenris wasn’t surprised when Gideon walked through the door, and yet for some reason his stomach did a little flip as the mage approached. It wasn’t every day he came across a man this handsome. There had been a few here and there over the years, but sadly for all of them, they were slavers or other men of less than worthy natures. At least this one he would not have to kill.

“You’re glowing again,” the man said, pulling his hood back. There was little Fenris could tell about his mood. Gideon’s face was neutral, along with his tone.

“And you have footsteps that put the title of rogue to shame,” Fenris replied, leaning the staff in a corner, next to a rack that would soon house the fur-collared armor that made Hawke so recognizable.

Gideon shrugged. “Not really a rogue though, am I? Besides, I didn’t want you to think I was sneaking up on you. I’ve seen you in battle. Your reflexes are faster than mine.” A small grin crinkled the corner of his mouth. “The last thing I wanted was to agree to be Hawke only to be run through by a massive sword before I had a chance to play the part.”

Fenris’s eyebrows lifted. “You have agreed to it then? You will be our Hawke?”

Gideon held a hand up. There was no smile, no joy in this choice. But then, anyone who got excited to become Hawke would likely have been the wrong man for the job. Fenris was glad to find his gut knew the right man when it saw him, though his heart was being traitorous, the little flutter in it was a disturbing new development to say the least.

“Yes, I will be Hawke for you all,” Gideon grimaced now. “But there’s one thing left to do before I go in whole hog.”

Fenris pressed his lips together and nodded. He knew this talk was coming no matter what the man’s decision was. Their fragile trust was broken and it was Fenris’s fault.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Do you? Because I don’t.” Gideon replied, his tone losing it’s neutrality and turning angry, his hands fisting at his sides. “Do you know what it’s like to be deceived like that? Do you know what it feels like to be strung along by someone you might…”

Cutting himself off before he said anything he’d regret, he paced the room for a moment.

”Look. I’ve had people pull shit like this before to get a reward from the Templars. ‘Turn in the mage and get a bag of gold!’ And people can get really creative about pulling off that little trick.”

Fenris nodded, folding his hands calmly in front of him. Gideon’s anger was justified, but years of training taught him that meeting that anger with his own dark feelings would only make things worse.

“I do know, actually. When I was on the run from my former master…”

Fenris shook his head, clearing the memories. He was better now, time had passed and his mind was his own. But it wouldn’t serve either of them to go down that road anymore.

“Those days are long gone, but I was deceived similarly and scarcely evaded capture many times.”

Shaking his head, Gideon crossed his arms over his chest.

“So you get it. Great. But that’s not an excuse really. Kinda worse, in fact.” The mage growled the words out, his temper still simmering. “Everything you told me was a lie, then?”

Fenris sighed. This was more difficult than he had anticipated. Gideon had not deserved this. Part of him wished he could go back and handle things differently.

“Not everything. Your reason for coming here was simply not what you believed.”

Gideon unfolded his arms, bringing a fist down on a nearby table.

“That’s bullshit. Don’t dance around it, Fenris. You lied to me. You made me think… never mind. I just want to know, if all you say now is true and not more lies, how you of all people could deceive me like that.”

Fenris stepped toward the mage, drawing Gideon’s focus directly on him, meeting the man’s eyes up close. A flash, a memory of the first time he had felt brave enough to stare Anders, a mage, in the face, passed through the elf’s mind. It clarified his words and his convictions in a heartbeat.

“I need to you to understand that there is very little I would not do to protect Hawke. I do what I must to ensure Hawke’s survival, as it were.”

Fenris sighed, shaking his head, a bemused smile creasing the corners of his mouth.

“I have seen the power of that symbol lift the spirits of the poor and downtrodden simply by being present and cracking some foolish joke. I have seen soldiers weighed down by fatigue suddenly renewed because Hawke had joined them in the field. As for the mage rebellion, however one views it, Hawke changed the world, I happen to think for the better. And I have Hawke to thank for my own freedom and for the man I am today.”

Gideon sighed, nodding as the elf’s words sunk in. He unclenched his fist and ran a hand through his hair as he breathed out his frustrations. There was silence between them for a moment before Fenris continued.

“Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry. I have become too accustomed to hiding the truth about Hawke from the world.”

Gideon shook his head and rolled his eyes, more at himself than Fenris, though by the crinkle in his brow, the mage knew he was mistaking the gesture’s meaning. But Andraste’s ass, this elf was far too handsome to stay mad at for long.

“I was doing perfectly fine on my own before you lot came along, you know. Sure, I was by myself a lot, but I managed to avoid the Templars just fine.”

Fenris stood straighter, his brow furrowing deeper and now Gideon was sure he misunderstood his response as the elf continued. At least it was concern instead of anger in his tone now.

“The Templars were not going to stop hunting you. And these new Red Templars are even more relentless. How long would it have been before they caught you?”

“I was going to go to Antiva or something.” Gideon explained. “I just…”

Fenris interrupted, his voice authoritative in a way Gideon only preferred to hear in bed, though he was willing to make an exception in the elf’s case.

“You can take it from me. There comes a time when you must stop running, when you turn and face the tiger.”

Gideon said nothing for another long couple of moments, pacing a bit before pausing to stare at Fenris and then pacing a bit more. Intrigued, Fenris found he once more could not read the look on the man’s face.

Finally Gideon stopped in front of the elf, turning to face him. “I won’t make you promise you won’t lie to me again. Maker’s balls, I’m sure I’ve told enough of my own in my lifetime. I’ll just ask you for one thing.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I prefer to wait until I have heard the condition before making a promise I may regret.”

“Fair enough.” Gideon nodded. “Promise me this: you won’t lie to me about your feelings toward me. Lie about whatever else you want, though I really hope you don’t. But just don’t… don’t lie to me about that.”

Gideon put his hand out and Fenris nodded, returning the gesture. They gripped each other’s forearm and gave a firm nod.

“I can promise you that much, Gideon. Or, should I say… Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eeeep. Wellllll this took a bit longer than anticipated. Sorry! 
> 
> I hope to have more frequent chapters, but things might get busy for me here and there and I am working on the second draft of my original novel. That said, I consider it a mark of honor to finish every fic I start. Haven't failed yet, not gonna start now. Since the outline is all written up, I really have no excuse. Huzzah!
> 
> Speaking of the outline, I have to keep tweaking it. LOL. Every time I write a chapter, I only get about half of the plot movement I thought I was going to. That just means more chapters for you to anticipate. That's a good thing, right?
> 
> There maaaaay be some lines of dialogue in here that sound vaguely familiar. Quite possibly from a certain first meeting. Despite this being set during Inquisition, do expect to see DAII bits and pieces to creep in. This is Fen and Hawke's love story, after all. 
> 
> So, that's me. How are you? Good? I hope good. If not, I hope it gets better for you soon.
> 
> Alright lovelies, I'm off. Thank you as always for your FUCKING AMAZING COMMENTS. I love you all.
> 
> EDIT: Want to know the status of the next chapter? I'll be updating here: http://swooningtrash.tumblr.com/tagged/swooningtrash-writes


	10. Can You See the Real Me

It was almost dark and the closed off tower was quiet compared to the rest of Skyhold, but that wasn’t why Varric was pleased to be here. Frankly, the dwarf had gotten tired of the Inquisitor’s war room and was just happy to not be meeting there for once. The place intimidated him, much as he was loathe to admit it. It was far too well organized for his liking and Leliana had taken to skulking in the shadows near the drapery. Or at least that’s how it felt the last couple of times Varric had thought he was the first to arrive. He had actually jumped when she showed herself, appearing almost out of thin air the last time he was there.

No, this place, drafty as it was, definitely had a much better feel to it. It also had the advantage of not having any drapery for highly skilled spy veterans of the Fifth Blight to hide behind. In fact, the Inquisitor’s spymaster was the last to arrive.

“Leliana, good. We shall begin.”

Cassandra was a bit too enthusiastic for Varric’s comfort. She seemed to be eyeing Gideon up in a way that made the dwarf wonder how the man measured up to the picture of Hawke in her vivid imagination. But she did seem to have things in hand for the moment. Varric leaned back in his chair and let her take the lead.

“Gideon. The Inquisitor is not available this evening, but she did insist that I convey her deepest gratitude, as does Commander Cullen.”

“You’re welcome,” Gideon replied, “I suppose I’ll be a new man the next time I see them. Literally in this case.”

Varric chuckled. The rest of his band of misfits were scattered around the room, Merrill on a trunk listening intently, Isabela next to her, scraping dirt from under her nails with a small knife, and Fenris, calm and cool, but not missing a beat as he leaned against a tall sturdy cabinet nearby.

Leliana stepped forward, her face focused, eyes intense in a way that made Varric stand up a bit straighter. He noticed Gideon straightening up, too, and smirked.

“I have taken the liberty of laying out a plan to get you out of the fortress. You will leave under cover of darkness and return in the morning, though not too early, yes? We want to make sure that people see the Champion arrive.”

Gideon nodded. “Sounds solid. I can go pretty much unseen when I want to. Not a problem.”

“Good. Once you arrive, you’ll be given new quarters, but they will not be far from your current ones. As the Champion of Kirkwall, you will be tantamount to a visiting dignitary, our first, so many in the Inquisition will seek to make a good impression on you or get information about our operations and plans. Speak to them as little as you are able until you have a more thorough grasp on the Tale of the Champion. Hawke has history you should try to adhere to for all our safety.”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Perhaps Fenris, you could help Gideon familiarizing himself with the Tale? After all, you will be rooming together.”

It was Fenris’s turn to stand up straight. “Excuse me? Why would that be required? Is there not going to be a room freed up once Gideon assumes his role as Hawke?”

Cassandra gasped and looked at Varric. So did Leliana. Isabela cackled.

“He doesn’t know! Brilliant! Oh Varric. I don’t think our dear elf read the book.”

“What’s that?” Merrill asked. “Ohhhhh. You mean how in Varric’s book Fenris and Hawke are… you know.”

Isabela was grinning from ear to ear now.

“I have to say, Varric. It was a really nice touch. Could have been a bit more spicy though. Next time ask me. I can give you plenty of ideas for that.”

Fenris stepped over to Varric, glaring down at him. “Care to explain, Dwarf?”

Varric chuckled. “Funny thing about stories. They kind of just… evolve when you’re writing them down.”

Gideon looked just as confused as Fenris now.

“Is there something I’m missing here? I hate it when I miss things. It usually ends up with me in a pair of torn pants with a moth-eaten scarf around my neck.”

Varric rubbed the back of his neck, hoping there wasn’t going to be a sword run through it in a moment.

“Well, see, my publisher and I thought it could use some kind of… love subplot. Something to really drive the story along, you know? It was for character depth and…” He sighed, looked at Gideon, then Fenris and cringed a bit as he continued. “So, I made you and Hawke lovers.”

Fenris furrowed his brow and said nothing. Gideon’s eyebrows went up instead, but he said nothing either. Cassandra, a more wistful tone in her voice than Varric had ever heard before, broke the confused silence.

“It is a beautiful story, almost tragic, though I was so glad you gave them a happy ending, Varric. I nearly cried when Fenris fled their bed after that first night. And then you kept me on tenterhooks until near the end. Oh, and that final scene before the battle at the Gallows. I read the shit out of that.”

Fenris cleared his throat, stopping her before she could continue her completely uncharacteristic gushing about his personal life, imagined or otherwise. She had a slight blush in her cheeks and her eyes were a bit bright, but she stayed quiet as Fenris turned on Varric.

“Is she saying that you gave myself and Hawke a romantic scene in the midst of fighting the Knight-Commander?”

Varric pursed his lips and nodded. “It was before we fought her and her personal guard. After we had made it over and took out Orsino.”

“Oooooh.” Merrill waved her hand. “I remember that spot. We had taken a break. But… we were exhausted and covered in entrails, Varric. That does not seem very romantic to me.”

“Well, Daisy, I didn’t exactly go into details on the gore.”

“That’s very smart of you, Varric.”

“Thank you, Daisy.”

“Uh, hello?!?” Gideon raised his voice. “Do you mean to tell me that I’m supposed to be in love with Fenris? As in, deep vows and longing looks and all that?”

Varric mutely nodded. Gideon looked at Fenris, considering him for a moment, then turned back to Varric. Nodding, he took a cleansing breath.

“Okay. That’s fine. This is fine. I can… sure. I can pretend that.”

“Pardon me?” Fenris asked, shaking his head.

Gideon smiled at him. “Look, I told you when we first met. You’re a perfectly handsome elf.”

Isabela wolf-whistled and everyone turned to give her a glare.

“Sorry, but you all have to agree he’s right. Right?”

They all looked at Fenris and then subtly nodded to each other. The elf could not remember a time he felt more awkward. He cleared his throat and brought his attention back to Gideon, who continued.

“So, if I’m going to have to pretend to be in love with someone, you’re a perfectly fine candidate. I’ve had to play my share of roles before. Apostates don’t have the luxury of being themselves all the time. This one at least won’t require me to cover myself in nug dung.”

Still confused and a bit desperate, Fenris looked at each of his supposed friends in turn, hoping to find a sympathetic face, and came up empty. After a moment he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Very well. An escaped slave learns much of subterfuge on the run. I can meet this challenge.”

“A challenge? Is it so hard pretending to be in love with such a specimen?” Gideon smirked at Fenris and the elf chuckled, covering the sound with a cough again.

A quiet grin and a nod passed between Varric and Isabela, though they said nothing.

Leliana, with a small grin still on her face, spoke up. “With that settled, shall we let your team prepare Gideon, Varric?”

Varric nodded. “Yeah. We’ll have him ready by midnight.”

With a nod of their heads the former Right and Left Hands of the Divine took their leave of the band of misfits in the tower. When they were gone, Gideon turned to Varric.

“So, what’s the deal? I don’t need to have my face scarred up or anything do I? I wouldn’t mind keeping it as is.”

Isabela stepped close, almost pressing up against him as she pulled on the hair bound at the nape of his neck.

“Nothing so dramatic, kitten. Just a bit of a hair cut and a dye job. The rest of you goes untouched, at least by me. Right Fenris?”

Fenris said nothing, just giving her a grunt in response and rolling his eyes again. Isabela gave Gideon a wink.

“Come on. Merrill hasn’t dyed anyone’s hair in ages. Right, sweet thing?”

Merrill grinned, hopping off the trunk and opening it to pull out supplies. “Oh yes. We’ve done this for all the Hawkes. Even Fenris that one time. Though the dye didn’t take so well on his hair. Made it more of a dark silvery color. It was rather lovely, though it wasn’t quite Hawke.”

Before Gideon had a chance to resist any further, Merrill and Isabela got to work on his transformation.

 ***

It was near to midnight when Isabela wiped her brow and stood back to admire their handiwork.

“Well, Andraste’s knickers. If you weren’t supposed to be Fenris’s you’d be getting a visit from me later, that’s for sure, kitten.”

Gideon’s hair had been cut rather short on the sides and back with the top left longer and tousled. It was no longer brown either. Along with his eyebrows, carefully blackened by a fastidious Merrill, his hair was now a raven wing black that had a slight sheen to it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Isabela saw Fenris staring at Gideon, though his face was neutral. With a smirk, Isabela grabbed Merrill’s hand.

“Come on kitten. Fenris needs to get ‘Hawke’ dressed before he heads out.”

“Of course. Good luck, Gid… I mean ‘Hawke’.” She giggled and waved as Isabela pulled her from the room.

Fenris cleared his throat when they left. “Here, I will show you how to put the Champion’s armor on. It is not difficult. A man can learn to do it by himself with a bit of practice.”

“Thanks.” Gideon smiled, looking more nervous as he took the first piece of armor from Fenris.

They fell silent for a while, other than an occasional “like this” and “see this here?” from Fenris and Gideon’s affirmation that he understood.

When the final piece, a fur-collared breastplate, had been buckled into place, Gideon stood before a long mirror, cracked around the edges.

“Well,” he said, turning and taking it all in. “That’s… new.”

“It looks like it fits well on you,” Fenris told him. “Are there any pieces that cause you discomfort?”

Gideon shook himself, the chainmail jingling quietly. “Well, that’s noisier than I’d like. I can get used to it, though.”

Fenris stepped forward and with a nod from Gideon, began adjusting the armor again. “You are meant to be a bold apostate mage, after all, not a rogue, so I should think it will not be too much of a problem.”

“Hmmm.” Gideon replied, his voice dropping a little. “Never know when sneaking might be needed. I’m pretty good at sneaking, you know.”

Fenris smirked. “I’m sure you are.”

When he was done adjusting Gideon’s armor, Fenris stepped back, taking him in from head to toe. Confirming that everything was in order, Fenris gave an approving nod.

There was a pensive look on Gideon’s face. “You know, Fenris… we… I know this is an awkward situation and I want you to know it doesn’t have to mean… well…”

There was a knock on the door and they both turned as Leliana entered the room.

“My,” she said, smiling brightly when she saw Gideon. “You truly look very much like the last time we met, Champion.”

Gideon smirked. “Sister Nightingale. Good to see you again, too.”

She smiled at the name. “You have been reading up a bit, it seems.”

“Fenris helped me with a few details. At least enough for tomorrow. I hope.”

She nodded. “Indeed. And now it is time to go, Champion. If you’ll follow me.”

Fenris passed Gideon the bladed staff that was as much a part of Hawke as the armor. Gideon took a quick glance down himself, then looked back up at Fenris.

“When I get back… maybe just for safety… probably best to start calling me Garrett, yeah?”

Fenris nodded, putting out a hand to him and they grasped each other’s forearms.

“Safe travels then, Garrett Hawke. I will see you upon your return.”

With a half smirk and wink, Hawke turned around and followed Leliana out the tower door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo! New chapter! Quite a few of you knew this was coming because you're such good guessers! 
> 
> I don't have much to say about it, but hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I'm going to do my best to post status updates on chapter progress from here on out. You don't have to follow me, but you can check in for updates here: http://swooningtrash.tumblr.com/tagged/swooningtrash-writes


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